


In All That I Could Never Overcome

by onenotelite



Series: Reunion Tour [2]
Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onenotelite/pseuds/onenotelite
Summary: It’s not that you necessarily stop feeling God’s presence entirely.  But He clearly stops sending you those little signs that always affirmed your faith.  Like He knows your heart is still split, and she has the bigger half.(Or, the Priest tries to use external events to evaluate his life choices)Post-season 2.  The Priest’s POV of the events in My Imperfect Offering.
Relationships: Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Series: Reunion Tour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007583
Comments: 47
Kudos: 91





	1. Put a small X where I lost my way

You would love to believe that the hard part is simply recognizing that you do love her, but that you still have to pick Him anyways. You have to hope that everything after that point has to be easier than choosing, because God knows that choice just about tore you in half.

  
  


That’d be a fucking lie though.

  
  


From the moment you trundle away from that bus stop with only your vestment and a heavy heart, you’re admittedly a fucking mess. You know it. Everyone who comes into contact with you can tell. Pam just looks at you with soft motherly eyes full of pity, which should make you feel better. But really it makes everything that much worse.

  
  


The whole thing--the entrance of her into your life, the friendship, the temptation, the absolutely everything about her--was just a test of your faith. You are so sure of this, down to the very deepest part of your soul that only Christ’s light itself could find. 

  
  


You are certain that He presented you with two clear choices--secular love, or eternal salvation.

  
  


Black and white, undeniably clear. A test with only one right answer, to show your devotion to Him, to your faith in His plan.

  
  


What else could you do? You chose the priesthood. You chose Him. 

  
  


So now the only path through this crucible is to use all of your time, all of your everything really, to recommit to your relationship with Him.

  
  


And that is what you do. You confess your sins immediately to an old mentor that you know won’t throw you to the wolves over this. Father Matthew counsels you with both severity and solicitude, which is what you need. You throw yourself into prayer and atonement. Then, back into your work. You’ve never been this enthusiastically dedicated, not even in seminary.

  
  


Because after everything you’ve sacrificed before--and all the mistakes you made in that middle bit there--the least you could do is refocus all of your time and energy and devotion to the work. 

  
  


It is incredibly difficult to pull it together emotionally though.

  
  


She lingers in your head constantly. Never leaves. Never relents.

  
  


Anything and everything is a trigger at first. You toss perfectly good tinned G&Ts in the bin after the first one tastes like her kisses. A particularly loud parishioner’s “and also with you” sounds just like her, and you just about burst into tears during the middle of service. For fuck’s sake, some teenager talks about his pet guinea pig dying during confirmation prep, and you have to literally run out of the room.

  
  


Just so, even though you foolishly believed that the hard part would be over the moment you made your choice, you are still an endless disaster.

  
  


You pray for guidance on how to return to a path of clarity and devotion. The one you thought you’d been on before she entered your life. 

  
  


But though you know it is improving, you’re not certain your relationship with God is completely repaired at this point. Though not for lack of trying. So at times you feel like you’re flying without a map.  The benchmarks you use to guide your way at first are imperfect, and designed mostly by your burdensome spirit. They end up being more like marching orders really.

  
  


First, swear to Him in your prayers that you are repentant. (You are.)

  
  


Second, promise yourself you’ll start drinking less. (You don’t.)

  
  


Third, keep her away from the church. Even just the bit of her in your imagination. 

  
  


(You do your best on that one.)

  
  


That is the most important one, though. While you are in church, you give it your best shot to gift Him your full undivided love and adoration. You preach His word with a cracking reassuring smile for His parishioners. She is not welcome there, and you know that she knows it.

  
  


(Because you are just an imperfect man, you cannot stop your heart for hoping that she breaks the rule though)

  
  


When you are in God’s house, you keep yourself distracted enough where she cannot exist.

  
  


But at night, when you’re alone, your body is restless and your mind insomnolent, she’s there. The worst of it all, the memories of her feel good. Feel like pure euphoria. Impure purity.

  
  


(You had warned her that celibacy was a lot less complicated that night out in the garden. If you had been smart, you would have taken that more to heart yourself)

  
  


Despite it all, you do keep her in your prayers. 

  
  


That it passes for her.

  
  


That she finds peace.

  
  


And that God helps her find someone that can focus all their love on her and her alone, like she deserves.

  
  


\--

  
  


On the really bad days, you read Winnie the Pooh quotes as if they’re scripture. 

  
  


They almost always relate to her somehow, even if you have to twist the words to make it fit. 

  
  


\--

On the worst of the days, it feels like you are irreparably broken, and not even God Himself can fix what you have done to yourself.

  
  


You pray that both of you keep trying anyways.


	2. the audience went home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Priest reflects on the importance of signs, peace, the notion of experiencing a test of faith)

Even after you have worked through reconciliation, for a while you still feel your relationship with Him is not fully recovered. Not dead, certainly. It’s also not that you necessarily stop feeling God’s presence. But He clearly stops sending you those little signs that always affirmed your faith.

  
  


Paintings stay fixed to the wall. No unexpected guests pop out of your head and into your office in the middle of the night. When you can’t reach your hidden stash of whiskey, you have to pull a chair over to the cabinet yourself. 

  
  


You can feel that He is with you constantly, but it’s almost like He is keeping your messages on read now. As if He knows despite all your best efforts that your heart is still split, and she has the bigger half.

  
  


The only thing that continues for a while are the foxes. They’re fucking  _ everywhere. _

  
  


So you start focusing your prayer on this aspect of your relationship. Making amends. The little attestations were so important to you, and for them to stop was a huge concern. After all, the signs led you here. It was a fallen church fete flier that dropped (seemingly from the sky) and landed right in your outstretched hands in the midst of your absolute lowest point. That is what led you on this path to the church. That was your first call.

  
  


They had always brought you closer to Him, these little reminders. The signs were important, you knew that and He certainly knew that.

  
  


This time without the signs is a struggle. It leaves you feeling lost, aimless.

  
  


So you start to phone it in at work. Deliver generic homilies, give barebones advice, withdraw from socializing whenever you can. You even skip doing a restaurant review for the newsletter, because you are in no frame of mind to be out in public, or coming up with terribly clever food puns.

  
  


Then, as you’re sorting through the mail one day (which is usually just rubbish anyways) you’ve got something addressed directly to you. Somehow you sense that it’s something important. What you’ve been waiting for. 

  
  


Like a total geek, you tear it open quickly. It ends up being a sizable restaurant voucher to somewhere you’ve never been. There’s a note too, with handwriting you don’t recognize. 

  
  


_ Love the restaurant reviews in the parish newsletter, Father. Hope you feel better soon, because I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on their sticky toffee pudding. I’m praying for you. :) _

  
  


Your heart swells. 

  
  


The gesture was kind, surely, and that was part of it. But it feels deeply divine, like the return of what you’ve been waiting for. An undeniable answer to your prayers.

  
  


_ Thank you, God _ . _Truly._ You whisper out loud with your eyes heavenward, and your soul exalts it loudly in time.

  
  


It feels like a reminder that you are doing exactly what you should be doing, in the exact place that you should be. Serving Him, serving those that follow Him.

  
  


You end up going out that next weekend, feeling new wind in your sails from His return and the kindness of your anonymous supporter. Whether it’s the quality of the food, or the return of proper happiness in your heart, you write a review that could easily light up a room it’s that cheerful.

  
  


Loads of people tell you the next Sunday how great the latest review was. 

  
  


No one ever claims the credit for sending you the post.

  
  


The mystery of it gnaws at you a little bit. You’re certain that whoever it was read the newsletter and saw your thank you, but you still really want to thank them in person. They should have not just the privilege of shaking your hand with an in-person thank you, but of knowing how deeply touching the seemingly small gesture was. How faith affirming it really was.

  
  


You settle for thanking Him profusely for guiding whoever it was, in your hour of need, to send it your way.

  
  


\--

  
  


Your work starts to improve again. Pam stops looking at you like you’re a total cataclysm. You feel like less of a total disaster, though you still don’t feel like you’re back to peak performance.

  
  


Except, you also don’t feel like you’re totally at peace either. 

  
  


After bringing her to a Quaker meeting that one time, you’d made a pretty pointed joke about how she’d ruined his peace. There was definitely a kernel of truth buried in that ribbing. But it wasn’t just her tits that had upset your emotional balance then. And her physical absence now had been equally disturbing on that front.

  
  


Before her, you had assumed that ‘quiet’ and ‘peace’ were synonyms, both of which you had plenty.

  
  


Now, all you have is quiet, and you wonder if you ever really even had peace at all.

  
  


Not only that, but you absolutely still have not been able to expunge her from your memory. Cannot forget the way her lips felt as you kissed passionately, bodies pressed against the wall before her dad’s wedding (which even you know how disturbing that sounds, shut up) You cannot shake her presence in your office especially now. It’s all nervously mopping up spilled tea or switching off your radio, hand over heart honoring Piglet or watching you ramble about shades of plum, and all of it is her.

  
  


Still, she lingers. Tempting you constantly.

  
  


You pray that she’ll leave you alone.

  
  


That you’ll find peace again.

  
  


\--

  
  


It takes some time, a lot of reflection, many late nights drinking whiskey alone, and an uncountable number of prayers. But at some unknown point you start to question the very concept of the test God had subjected you to. Or rather, the idea that she came into your life simply as a test of your faith in God's plan.

  
  


Even as your attraction to her grew then, you never once questioned your love for God. It was one of the few things that remained unquestioned during your time together. You didn’t question His word.

  
  


You’ve discovered that it was the devotion to the rules of the church, to the restricted regimented life you had led in the priesthood. To the standards and practices.  _ This _ is what you questioned most.

  
  


So eventually, your perspective on the matter shifts. Slowly at first, until it grows so sizable it cannot be denied. No longer does she exist simply as a test of your faith. You begin to consider that maybe she was brought to you as a test of your devotion to the church. To being a priest.

  
  


If it was actually the former, then you had passed seamlessly. She could not sway you from following His plan, His word, His love.

  
  


But if that new definition was the true one, then surely you failed. 

  
  


Because even now, you wonder whether what you have sacrificed is worth what you have left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just will mention, it's hinted at in this chapter (and moving forward) that the Normal People confessions Comic Relief sketch with Andrew Scott is canon here in this fic and will come into play later. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are deeply appreciated ❤️


	3. every encore soothe your rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (the Priest gets some guidance for the holidays)

You’d love to believe that when presented with this test of your faith, that once you’ve made your choice, there are no more questions. No more doubts. You chose God, and that's it. Nothing to wonder about.

Except that’s another fucking lie, because all you have left are questions.

\--

The stress of the holidays starts to wear on you, more so than usual. 

It certainly doesn’t help that your mother actually calls twice begging you to come home for Christmas. Which is almost laughable, considering she has at least some idea of what is expected of you during this time. And the fact that you’ve never been asked to come home for anything, not since you gave everything up to serve the Lord, makes it all the more farcical. She only wants you there as a prop for her holiday gatherings, not as a son.

Despite imagining a number of vividly nasty responses, you do your best to rise above it and politely decline, citing unavoidable church business. You do apologize to Him for using His church as an excuse, when the truth is you really don’t want to see any of them at all.

But the stress wearing on you, it’s far more than just typical family bullshit. 

Advent marks the start of the liturgical year, so the ideas of new beginnings and recommitting to God’s plan are at the forefront of your life. Normally you love this time of year, it fills you with optimism and excitement. A renewed commitment. Hope.

Only now, still, your love is (slightly less now, but still very much) divided and you feel far less optimistic and committed than you know you should be.

In a time that you should be the most devoted, instead you find yourself perpetually distracted by evocations of her.

While your resolve had been strong at first to keep her out of the church at the very least, you are weak. The memories of her start bleeding in before you can contain it.

Like in the middle of service, you define the word Advent as ‘coming’ and fuck if it doesn’t remind you of her moaning with pleasure. And because you’ve left a long pause in your sentence, you hear a few very faint chortles through the congregation as a result, followed quickly by nearby elbows being jostled into their ribs and stern scolding whispers. So they can obviously tell where your head is at.

It takes all the strength of character you’ve got left to move on coherently after that. 

Everything about the holidays makes you think about what she is doing, how she is. If she’s caught up on her holiday shopping, whose house she’ll spend Christmas at. If some other man gets to unwrap her...

You stop yourself from going further on that curiosity.

But with all the events and commitments and everything going on, you are at least distracted enough to maintain the momentum you’ve somehow managed to build up. Routine sleep has evaded you most of the year but now you are so unbelievably engaged with church business, at day’s end you collapse immediately on any soft surface and wake up to your alarm.

Tonight, though, your insomnia returns like an old friend.

Even though your body is exhausted, on this particular evening your mind is constantly stirring you from sleep. Humming like a broken appliance.

More strongly than you have before, you feel her presence in your heart.

Though unlike most other nights, tonight she comes to you not as a temptress, but as an omen of felicity.

You remember only the goodness in her tonight. The warmth of her coy smile. The vulnerability of her confession. The feather-light touch on the nape of your neck in the early morning. The gentle understanding in her eyes when you said yes, it had to be God. 

There’s more to the stirrings in you though. Tonight, you lie awake debating whether something so fundamentally good could have ever been brought to you as a test. The test. You’ve pounded on this concept in your brain to the point that it should be reduced to dust by now. 

The largest question still hanging up in the air is why He would have brought someone to you who felt so right, so good, only for you to have to deny it. 

You’re desperate for answers, so you pray that He sends you the right words that will guide you to clarity. 

A faint rustling interrupts your thoughts. Like someone or something shuffling around outside. But you assume that it's either another fox, or just your lack of sleep playing tricks on your ears. 

Either way you stay in bed, desperate for sleep, yet a prisoner to your unending deliberations.

\--

The next morning, you regret letting your anxious thoughts get the better of you. 

You are completely exhausted, dragging your feet and taking your time getting ready. You’ve been a complete zombie, trapped in an unending chat with Pam (she’s certainly more chatty these days, maybe she is still worried about you after all) about her plan for the day. She has told you every item that needs to be picked up in great detail, and when exactly you can expect her back.

Thanks to the Lord’s unending grace, you make it through the chat without falling asleep on your feet. Pam certainly would never forgive something like that.

Just as she is about to head out, she stops at the doorstep and picks up something.

“How lovely, Father! Someone’s left you a gift!”

You assume that it’s a mistake, someone probably has just dropped off for the parish toy drive in the wrong spot. You’ve been finding parcels all over the church grounds, despite your very carefully written directions on where to go. Do people not actually read your updates on Facebook??

But you are wrong, as you often are, because this particular box’s got your name on it.

The loveliness of the gesture washes over you, even though you should feel suspicious. Someone dumped a box on your doorstep, presumably during the middle of the night. Weird. 

But you still want to believe that there’s good out in the world, so you shake the suspicions and accept the gift with gratitude. (Maybe there was someone outside after all, and you haven’t completely lost your sanity.)

A voice inside tells you to hold off until Pam's gone, though you’re not quite sure why.

But once she’s out the door and you’ve left enough of a buffer if she bursts back in unexpectedly, you tear through the wrapping excitedly like a little kid.

It’s a book, and because you’re an absolute nerd, you’re terribly excited about that.

As your eyes scan the cover, and after you’ve had the first proper laugh in ages when you notice the title, you are suddenly reminded of the wedding. Your first wedding. It reminds you of her, and how you said that finding someone you love feels like hope.

And for just a second, you swear you can hear her laughing from the next room. 

You read through the card, hoping that the kind gift giver would sign their name this time, and wind up disappointed. Another anonymous gift, how odd. You find it very hard to believe that any of your older parishioners would willing purchase you a book with fuck in the title. But this is a suspicion you shake off pretty easily.

The timing of it all feels… strange, though. 

You convince yourself at first that it’s all a coincidence. The night before, you were flooded with thoughts of her. Praying to Him specifically for words that would bring you to clarity. Then in the morning a book shows up on your doorstep, and the first thing you think of is her laughter and that she had taught you what hope properly felt like.

Coincidence? No. You have always been steadfast in the belief that everything happens for a reason, that there is a grander plan always at work.

Even though this book clearly came from someone else, you feel it in your heart that it could be a sign. Pulling you back towards her. Not in the same way as you’d had her before. Not that you could have her once more (or ever again).

But it dawns on you that more than anything, the emptiness you have been feeling all this time, stems from feeling hopeless. You miss the genuine hope that she brought into your heart.

Perhaps this was His way of saying that if you look hard enough, there just may be a way that you can find a way back to each other on some level, some day.

Soon, hopefully.


	4. so you don't get to be a saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Priest reckons with some past failures and also finds a new friend)

After you make it through Christmas, the memory of her feels less like perpetual torture and more like a welcome warmth. No longer a suffocating boulder but instead a comforting duvet.

  
  


But as you sort through the memories to savor the good ones, you start to reflect more honestly on  _ your  _ behaviors in the past. 

  
  


Early on your focus had always been on her. And Lord knows you’d been so angry at her at the time. For being so alluring, when you had so obviously set clear boundaries of what could and could not happen. For knowing exactly what she wanted (you) and being so bold and unyielding to make it happen. For turning up looking knock out gorgeous, constantly flirting and tempting you.

  
  


Some part of you hated her for making loving her so beguiling and effortless.

  
  


You were also a little angry with God honestly, because He was clearly testing you by offering you everything you had ever wanted in a previous life, and asking you to turn it away to prove your unending devotion to the church.

  
  


But now, with time and distance, you can no longer deny that the blame does not belong to her, or to Him. But instead to your own faults in how everything played out.

  
  


And it is undeniable that, as a man of (and outside) the cloth, all you have done is disappoint her. 

  
  


When you assumed she’d miscarried, at first you tried to offer her your special brand of friendly counseling, but you were far too easily swayed instead into flirting and drinking and leading her on.

  
  


When it was obvious what she was actually seeking, instead of setting up harsher boundaries and clearer expectations, you gave her a customized bible and laughs and in-depth flirty banter about celibacy.

  
  


She came to your confession seeking reprieve, and  _ you  _ tried to fuck her outside the confessional. If He hadn’t intervened, you absolutely would have too. 

  
  


She offered you her wholehearted love, and you broke her heart. 

  
  


At every turn, you failed her. As a priest, you put your carnal needs above serving His purpose. As a man, you broke her heart by choosing to focus your love on someone else. 

  
  


_ Bastard _ .

  
  


\--

  
  


You start praying for forgiveness for all your shortcomings. 

  
  


That He forgives you for failing in your work, and you also beg that He gives you one more chance to make amends with her.

  
  


—

  
  


Some time passes. Mass has just ended, and you’re sending off the congregation with loads of well wishes, when a stranger approaches you with a friendly smile.

  
  


You get a feeling straight away like something good is incoming, and you’re not quite sure why exactly. (Though you absolutely like the buzzy anticipatory feeling of it.)

  
  


He tells you his name is Joe (though you don’t catch his last name), that this is his first time at St. Ethelred’s, and that if you have a moment he’d love to have a chat with you.

  
  


Desperate for any form of conversation that will pull you out of your head for a bit, you bring him back to your office for a cuppa.

  
  


After you’ve set down the cups (carefully still, though you never seem to spill tea when it’s anyone but her in that chair) he starts to explain why he wanted to chat. That his old church had a new priest appointment recently, which left him feeling ready for a change. And that he wanted to just have a talk to get a feel for him before he started regularly attending service in your parish.

  
  


It feels a bit like a job interview. But you’re humbly renowned for making great first impressions, so you’re not nervous in the slightest.

  
  


Things go well, you chat and sip tea and put on your best ‘please join my church’ face on. After a while, you’re unable to quiet that inquisitive voice in the back of your head, so you ask. 

  
  


“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you find out about our parish?” 

  
  


You are such a nerd, desperate to find out where recommendations or suggestions come from. Anytime someone new comes in you always ask this question. Perhaps you just want the validation that your decision to start up on Facebook was a great idea.

  
  


“Oh a very nice lady at Chatty Wednesdays told me that I should give your services a try, said that you were quite good.”

  
  


Your blood runs a bit cold when he says  _ Chatty Wednesday.  _

  
  


You remember where you had heard that phrase before, and you’re positive that  _ her _ cafe is the only one to have it.

  
  


While it’s one thing for her to exist in your thoughts, it’s quite another to have her spoken into reality again. It catches you off guard. 

  
  


It’s the closest you’ve been to her for almost a year.

  
  


But the conversation sweeps you along onto other topics before you can circle back to it. 

  
  


You like Joe. He doesn’t seem put off when you totally geek out. He certainly does his own fair share of that as well. It’s definitely an off-beat conversation that you both engage in. 

  
  


At the very least, it leaves you feeling less alone.

  
  


—

  
  


That night, you thank  _ her  _ this time.

  
  


For starting up Chatty Wednesdays. A chance for lonely people to find companionship. 

  
  


Because this directly led one of his parishioners to seek conversation and found another potential parishioner that they recommended your church to. This connection brought them to you, when they needed a new place to celebrate God and you sorely needed a nice friendly chat. 

  
  


You hope that He doesn’t mind sharing the credit on this one. Just as much as you pray that somehow, she can feel your gratitude. Or even better yet, that you can share it with her yourself some day.


	5. Martyrs never last this long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Priest gets invited to an anniversary dinner party, and also has an unexpected run-in at the shops)

By now, you’ve gotten pretty good at judging what type of conversation is about to happen based on how fast and loud someone approaching you in the church. Slow dragging footsteps are reluctant sinners looking for forgiveness.  Whereas frantic clicking heels that echo through the church, much like what you hear now, means someone is about to ask for something important and they’re likely not to take no as an answer.

  
  


“Hello Father. It’s absolutely lovely to see you!” 

  
  


You recognize the voice immediately. It’s not  _ her,  _ but it is her stepmother, which is close enough to  _ her  _ to give  _ you _ heart palpitations on the spot.

  
  


Despite your obvious cardiac issues, you put on your best game face. Politely ask how the first year of marriage has been treating her. Hope that she sticks to her and her husband, and brings no one else into the conversation. But also subconsciously begging for any update on how she is. 

  
  


“Everything is marvelous. Listen, I’ve tried calling and calling but I can never seem to catch you! My darling husband and I are hosting an anniversary dinner for the family, and since you were such a wonderful part of our happy day, I’d absolutely love it if you could join us for dinner.”

  
  


The temptation, just in the invitation alone, is incredible. Stronger than your memory did justice. 

  
  


You imagine what it would be like to sitting side by side in a restaurant with her once more. If she'd wear that jumpsuit again or perhaps something more demure. ( _God you cannot help but hope not_ ) You imagine all the glances you could steal while her family inevitably implodes into quiet chaos. 

  
  


Little accidental brushes of your hands. A chance to ask her how she’s been, and really listen this time.

  
  


Sneaking off for a cigarette, standing side by side. Until you can no longer stand being apart from her for another second. Bodies pressed together. Lips reuniting. Hands groping. 

  
  


Your current company clears her throat and jolts you back to reality.

  
  


She’s now giving you a smile that feels far more threatening than friendly.  _ Wow, she is properly scary.  _

  
  


“I’m so sorry to bother you when you’ve got so much going on. Like I said, I do hope you could make it work this Friday.  _ Charming  _ restaurant, fantastic wine. It’d be us and the girls. Oh, and my darling stepdaughter will be bringing her new beau along as well. Lovely man, you’d get on well I imagine. So a small crew, hopefully much less exciting than the last party of ours you came to!”

  
  


Those words echo: _stepdaughter will be bringing her new beau along_.

She _has_ met someone.

All the scenarios you’d just imagined replay in your head again, only this time you have a different seat at the table. A different point of view.

  
  


Another man, who looks like a right tosser, gets to brush her hand as he refills her wine glass. Gives her cheeky little looks when something wild happens. Sneaks away with her for a cigarette, or something more bawdy and vulgar, outside the restaurant.

  
  


If her stepmother’s voice had given you heart palpitations, these imaginings would surely send you into immediate cardiac arrest.

  
  


Yet, you realize after a beat, it would actually be safer for you to join in if that were the case. Someone else to flirt endlessly with her would leave room for actual conversation.  You’d love the company, it’s felt like ages since you went out for a proper meal, and you’ve had enough experience with this family to expect a show of some kind. Plus, you know, you could talk to her. See for yourself if she is well.

  
  


A yes hangs on your lips, and the prospect of that feels so good.

  
  


Except you’re already firmly committed to another event for the church that you cannot possibly withdraw from. 

  
  


The disappointment of that realization stings. Far more than it should.

  
  


Her stepmother looks devastated when you explain this to her, but she plasters a big smile, pokes you square in the chest and promises that she’ll “have you at some point then”. When she stomps out the church, you’re left with an eerie feeling that you cannot shake for the rest of the day.

  
  


It’s likely just that you miss  _ her  _ and you lament that you’ll likely never get another chance like that again.

  
  


—

  
  


The day after the missed dinner, you offer to go to the shops so Pam can spend time with her visiting family. You don’t mind shopping all that much, but more than anything you are desperate for some kind of distraction.

  
  


Literally all you can think about was the anniversary party you were kept away from.

  
  


Still, you soldier on. Pick up far too many crisps and a few more cans of G&T than you know you should. You snag a few things you suspect Pam would appreciate as well, because you’re being a bit of a selfish prick today.

  
  


Just as you turn the corner round the next aisle, you see her.

  
  


Once again not  _ her,  _ but her sister. Claire.

  
  


Judging by her wide eyes and defensive crouch, she absolutely recognizes you.

  
  


By no coincidence, and seemingly by cosmic design, a sudden surge of shoppers come into the aisle from both sides, more or less pushing you and her closer together with no chance for escape.

  
  
  


“Oh Christ.” She lets out when you’re close enough to hear and an interaction is now unavoidable. “Hello Father.” She adds quickly, as if it softens the blow of her initial greeting.

  
  


“Hello Claire.” Even though your body chemistry is 90% panic alone at this point, you still manage to put forward your most friendly greeting. “How are you?”

  
  


“Fine, thanks.” She keeps her answers short, and keeps glancing around, presumably desperate for an escape. “And you?”

  
  


“Fine, yea I’m doing fine thanks.” You don’t mean to copy her words intentionally, but you’re fucking nervous, so you parrot her.

  
  


A long pause ensues. Long enough to recognize a Take That song in the background, and wonder if that’s also some kind of a sign.

  
  


“Is your…”  _ Don’t say it.  _ “...family… well?”

  
  


“Quite.”

  
  


Another devastatingly long silence. 

  
  


This time you notice there’s a knowing expression there in her eyes. As if she has heard every last sordid detail of your affair with her sister. And now she just may be figuring out how to crucify you, right here in the middle of Sainsbury's.

  
  


“And...”  _ Who are you fooling? You can’t not ask.  _ “Your sister? Is she well?”

  
  


“She’s alright.” Of everything she’s said so far, this is by far the sharpest. Like she is simultaneously convincing you that her sister is well, and also fashioning her words into a dagger to shove straight into your carotid for what you’ve done.

  
  


After yet another long, loaded, terrifying pause, her expression unexpectedly softens. “I suppose everything’s a bit fucked, isn’t it?”

  
  


The way she says that feels extremely and unforgettably pointed.

  
  


Unsure of what else to say, and now that an opening in the crowd has given you both a chance to escape, you both wish each other well and part ways.

  
  


Afraid of experiencing anymore uncomfortable surprises, you promptly finish your shopping and head back to the rectory.

  
  


Her words echo as you go about the rest of your day.  _ Everything’s a bit fucked, isn’t it?  _ You cannot seem to shake it. That was no mere general observation. It almost feels like a clue.

  
  


But to what?

  
  


(And for the record, you absolutely think that God was playing DJ in that Sainsburys by playing that particular song. “Back for Good”, how subtle, you think with a very intense eye roll.)

  
  


It stays stuck in your head for weeks after.


	6. our exhibit-A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (the Priest accepts an unexpected confession, and has some realizations about his past behavior)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (These next two chapters are fairly angsty, but I promise there is payoff coming soon. Thank you for sticking it out with me 😊)

This particular day is just an ordinary one of accepting confessions for you. Standard, monotonous, the usual. An increasing amount of your responsibilities are starting to feel that way, though you are trying to keep those negative feelings boxed away while you are figuring it all out.

  
  


(There is a lot that you are keeping bottled up these days.)

  
  


But it’s near the end of this particular day, and you hear the curtain open and someone enters. Their legs are shaking, which is causing a metronome effect in the quiet stillness. They must be nervous. Either it’s been a long time or they’ve done something really bad.

  
  


You brace yourself for whatever’s about to come out, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for...

  
  


“Bless me Father, it’s been over a year since my last confession.” 

  
  


_ Her. _

  
  


No. Can’t be.

  
  


Her voice is shaking, and seems like she’s trying very hard to disguise herself. She clearly does not want you to know that it’s her. But it is unmistakably  _ her. _

  
  


Your heart quite literally skips a beat.

  
  


You should be angry. All that you had asked of her was to stay away from the church. Had you missed her? Absolutely. Been desperate for any excuse to see her in any capacity? Damn right. Not here though.

  
  


But also you know down to your core that God guided her here for a reason. 

  
  


And selfishly, now is your chance to atone for your past mistakes. To give her the spiritual guidance she deserved in the first place.

  
  


“That’s okay. Welcome back then.”  You decide instantly that you’ll pretend not to know her. Treat her like any other Catholic who’s wandered back in after a year away. You’ll just be a priest today. Nothing more, nothing less.  “Tell me what’s been weighing on your heart.”

  
  


“I... did something really terrible a while ago.” 

  
  


You utter a quick informal prayer (it’s, at best, wishful thinking) that she is not about to call your affair  _ terrible.  _ That would likely break your heart. Or at the very least, start an argument that will definitely ruin the cool conspicuous vibe you’re trying to put forward.

  
  


“And….because of it, my best friend died. So what’s been weighing on my heart is that I feel solely responsible for my best friend’s death.”

  
  


_ That was unexpected. _

  
  


Suddenly you recall that day in her cafe, as if it had just happened moments ago. 

  
  


She had been so cagey about the friend she had opened the cafe with. You thought it was odd then, and had briefly wondered in the moment if there was some kind of falling out. Personally or professionally, you weren’t sure. Never even crossed your mind that “she died” was the end of that sentence that she couldn’t seem to get out.

  
  


It’s a strange relief to finally have an answer on that one. Even if it makes you feel like a proper arsehole.

  
  


“Why is that?” You want to keep her talking about this. She would not have come here, in a place where she had been unequivocally banned from, to talk to a man that she’d likely been trying to avoid for over a year, unless opening up was what she needed deep in her soul.

  
  


You would allow her that chance to find peace, no matter what.

  
  


But you also know her, and how she feels about answering questions, so you quickly qualify it. “Sorry, I’m not prying. I just think that talking it through may help you find peace.”

  
  


And she tells you  _ everything.  _ Your memories of that fight with her in the café make so much more sense now. You quickly throw thanks to Him for completing that picture, and chastise your past self for being so distracted by your attraction that you failed to recognize all the obvious hints she’d thrown about.

  
  


As she finishes with her admission, you reflect on what she’s told you and how you understand her better now as a result. 

  
  


Her disappearing act, that withdrawal thing, was some kind of defense mechanism, not just a quirky behavior. 

  
  


She had built up walls a hundred meters tall around her heart because not only had she lost her mother, she had lost her closest friend. It was not just the burden of loss she felt, but the burden of responsibility. Of guilt.

  
  


You cannot help but marvel at her strength, for carrying such an incredible emotional weight. And yet she still managed to carry on, effortlessly witty and cool all the time.  You find yourself loving her a little more.

  
  


But that’s not the point, not what she’s here for. Your only job now is to help her find absolution.

  
  


“That sounds like a very heavy emotional burden to hang onto.” You want to acknowledge her feelings first, before you start with your opinions on the matter. “But if you ask me, I don’t think it’s your  _ fault _ that she died.”

  
  


If you could see her face, you’d be sure that she was rolling her eyes and preparing a razor sharp response.  __ “But I was the reason…”

  
  


“Yes you made a bad choice that had some awful consequences.” Your words echo a similar sentiment to what Father Matthew had said while you were confessing your sins forever ago. To some degree, at least. “But her boyfriend also made a choice, to cheat on someone he cared about. You didn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do, from the sounds of it.”

  
  


You absolutely hate the idea of her shouldering all of the guilt when you both know that it takes two to tango, so to speak.

  
  


“And it also sounds like your friend made a choice too.” You are not about to blame her friend who’s passed, but it’s hard to watch her accept all of the culpability in this tragedy. “It’s incredibly sad what happened though, an absolute tragedy. I’m very sorry for your loss. But while I understand why you feel guilty, I don’t know that you can or should shoulder all the blame in such a tragedy.”

  
  


You can hear her sobbing at this point, and your heart is biblically heavy. The sadness of the sound very nearly makes you join her in tears honestly. But you have to pull it together. 

  
  


_ Just be a fucking priest. _

  
  


“Everyone makes choices, good and bad. I understand. I know that God certainly understands that. He knows you. He created you.”

  
  


This time, you’re talking to yourself just as much as her. (Even if you don't accept it as fervently as you should.)

  
  


“And I believe that above all, He would want you to forgive yourself.”

  
  


She says back with a fully fractured voice, “I don’t know how to do that.” 

  
  


“Pray on it. Ask for Him to show you a path to peace within Him.” 

  
  


Again, you can tell exactly how she feels about that bit of advice. 

  
  


“But I also think you should talk to your friend. In your prayers here at the church, or maybe somewhere that you still feel her presence. Just talk to her like she’s still with you.”

  
  


You immediately fall in love with the idea of her kneeling in your church, quietly seeking God’s grace. She’d been close to it once before. Perhaps if you stick around in the confessional for long enough, she’ll feel comfortable enough to stay.  Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of her face. Even from afar. Even if you cannot speak directly, both of you acknowledging one another honestly. Even if you cannot hold her.

  
  


“What’s her name?” Mostly you want to make sure to include them both in your prayers later. But also, you are fully addicted to any information she is willing to share with you now. 

  
  


“Boo. Her name’s Boo.”

  
  


Even though the atmosphere is massively wrought with emotion right now, you cannot help but smile. It fills your soul with unspeakable exuberance to be trusted with such important, intimate information. To be trusted like this, especially by someone who does not trust easily, it is overwhelming.

  
  


It’s ephemeral, this moment, so you savor it with conviction.

  
  


Then you continue on with your guidance, giving her something that may be more approachable for her. “Just start chatting with Boo sometime. If it’s too difficult to start with this heavy of a topic, just go with small talk, build up to it. Then, ask her for her forgiveness, with an open heart. Then, maybe, you’ll see why you deserve to ask of it to yourself, for yourself.”

  
  


She exhales loudly, not an exasperated sigh, but like a sigh of relief. 

  
  


You feel immense relief too, to have had this opportunity to make things right. To be there for her properly. To be trusted so wholly. Even though she surely thinks that you don’t know her from Eve. 

  
  


But you have to treat it like any other confession. If this was anyone else, you would conclude the sacrament at this point. It has to be standard. Monotonous. The usual.

  
  


You do your best to keep it as minimally churchy as possible, but you have got appearances to keep up. The last thing you want to do is betray the careful confidence you both have shared at this point. You stick to the routine.

  
  


When you tell her to go in peace, the curtain rips open. The clacking of her shoes as she races (literally, wow, she is  _ running)  _ out of there coincides perfectly with the pounding of your heart. 

  
  


For the first time since that terrible night, you remember what proper peace feels like.  You had been inundated with it in her presence. 

And you feel it fading away with every second that passes after she’s gone.

  
  
  


\--

  
  


In the immediate aftermath, you are irate with yourself.

  
  


Before, she had come to you during a very difficult time. Grieving her mother, which you had known. Mourning a best friend, which you had not. Buried by guilt, tormented by loneliness.

  
  


God had directed her to you because she needed guidance. She needed support.

  
  


And you had to go and fuck it all up because you were lustful.

  
  


_ Fucking bastard. _

  
  


It goes beyond that though.

  
  


That night, the night you broke your vows, you had told her that if you fell in love with her that your life would be fucked. 

  
  


Then, you were certain that there were only two possible outcomes of loving her. Either you would have to leave her, or you would have to leave the sanctuary of your life in the church. Both options would be ruinous.

  
  


And because you knew the demons of your past would be waiting outside the gate, you chose the easier option of staying in His sanctuary. You were certain that in the solitude of the priesthood, you would be far more successful at keeping your love contained than facing the torment of that past life without it.

  
  


But now, the sins of your past (and all the shame and regret associated with them) can no longer be contained. You had made your choice, confident that it was right, but now _e_ _ verything  _ was fucked. 

  
  


Then it clicks into place why Claire’s expression had stuck out to you. It was possibly true for her sister, and it was positively true for you. 

  
  


And of course, you  _ dunce,  _ you even had a book sitting underneath your mattress that served as a daily reminder of that exact fact.

  
  


(Perhaps you were not as literate in reading His signs as you believed yourself to be after all.)


	7. “oh that’s where you must have lost your way”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (After taking her confession, the Priest is questioning everything—and has an unexpected epiphany abroad)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter does contain another reference to the Normal People Confessions sketch.

For a while after her confession, you get… well, a bit creepy.

  
  


The thrill of being close to her once more is absolutely intoxicating. So much worse than you thought possible. And so much so that you start to consider ways that you can get her to come back, without direct contact yourself. Given how things ended the first time round it’d be hard to reach out now.

  
  


But. Maybe if someone else reached out initially and arranged it so she started volunteering again at fundraisers, or even came to service, that wouldn’t be the worst thing right? Then you would not be inappropriate in chatting with a new and potential parishioner. It would be rude  _ not  _ to talk to her.

  
  


But like a fucking idiot, you told her she was never allowed in church again. And as far as you're supposed to know, that rule was not breached.

  
  


So you scrap that ridiculous scheme and try to reconnect with the church work that you have been finding less and less fulfillment in these days.

  
  


Then on several occasions in the following weeks, you start going on long walks to clear your head, and somehow manage to end up a few blocks away from her flat. A few of those times you get as close as standing outside her door. Close enough to see the lights are on, to presume she’s home, and to wonder if that man from the anniversary dinner (that the church kept you from) was in there too.

  
  


Close enough that you could just reach out and knock. 

  
  


God grants you the strength to stay away, even when you don’t ask for it.

  
  


You feel yourself sliding back into old patterns, same as before. Desperate for any excuse to see her, spend time with her, talk to her. You obsess over it again constantly. Spending the time when your hands are occupied but your mind’s free to muse on exclusively her.

  
  


Except that it is much more different now.

  
  


Because before, you moved forward constantly burdened by iniquity. Acting in ways you knew were wrong but lacking the strength to stop yourself. Always possessing an overabundance of righteousness to feel guilty for it. Always lacking the resistance to say no.

  
  


Unable to stop, but always filled with regret.

  
  


Now though, more than anything, you question why God would give you a heart filled so fully, and ask you to preach love and acceptance to all but yourself. Why you kept getting conflicting guidance--signs that steer you towards firm commitment to the church, but then also signs pointing you in the direction of  _ her.  _

  
  


Still, you regret none of what you’re feeling towards her and wonder why you should deny yourself any longer, if she would still have you.

  
  
  


—

  
  


The resulting storm building in your heart becomes increasingly brooding, and brings you to a really dark place for a bit.

  
  


You do manage to stop walking by her flat at least.

  
  


But a darkness starts seeping into all facets of your life.

  
  


Father Matthew invites you out for dinner as a friendly gesture, and you turn it into a somewhat hostile encounter. You definitely debate on the minutiae of Catholicism a lot more harshly than you normally would. It’s not that you stop believing in His moral code, far from it. But you have come to realize a lot of the restrictive nature of the traditional church structure chafes, holding you back from preaching His word as you’d like.

  
  


You’re pretty irritable, which is very outside of your character. 

  
  


Your mentor lets you communicate your doubts and frustrations, without criticism or condemnation. He does look at you with raised eyebrows quite a bit, which makes you feel so transparent. Like he knows that she is the thorn in your paw, tormenting you relentlessly.

  
  


But you know deep down that this is not just about her. She was a mirror that reflected back the ways your life currently is not as peaceful as you had once believed it to be. Even if you never saw her again, you wonder whether you really could return to the status quo and find it as satisfying.

  
  


A week later, he calls on you again. He’s heard through the channels that there’s a priest in a parish just outside Dublin who needs minor surgery and will be on leave for two weeks. Given your background, he thinks it’d be a great opportunity for you. And that he would be happy to help sort out coverage at St. Ethelred’s to help get you there.

  
  


It’s obvious what the ulterior motive is here. And frankly, you are in no position to turn it down.

  
  


Arrangements are made quickly, and you head out by week’s end. 

  
  


The weather is awful when you arrive, all thick gray clouds and endless rain. How appropriate. As if He knew to set the scene so cinematically just for you. Had you arrived to gorgeous sunny weather, the contrast would have caused you to feel even more ostracized. Here though, you feel at home.

  
  


Before you left, you had made a promise to yourself and to God that the second your feet touched the ground in Ireland you would let all thoughts of her go. That you would use this time to refocus. To forget, and move on. To reconnect with your call to service.

  
  


Then naturally, a young couple comes into confession on your very first day and you end up  _ ranting  _ and making the entire thing exclusively about you. About her.

  
  


Even when you travel to another country, your shortcomings trail you.

  
  


You do try to keep to your covenant though. To shift your focus back on to your faithful existence and nothing else. Also to figure out why you cannot seem to stop flogging yourself over this whole situation. You preach God’s forgiveness but will not ask it of and for yourself. (That particular task is going to take more work, you recognize.)

  
  


In your free time you go on more long walks, hoping that the fresh air will clear your head. 

  
  


Whether it’s the constant motion or the change in scenery, you do find your perspective on matters shifting. Though not as you had expected it to.

  
  


Doubt follows you with every step, like an uncompromising shadow. Certainly you have experienced doubt before, but this is something different entirely. 

  
  


When you had made the decision to answer His call, you’d been obnoxiously confident that you were making the only right decision. Only a strong person with an unbreakable faith could make such a decision. And you had proceeded with arrogance, grounded in your ability to make the hard choice to cut and run from all your past mistakes and serve a higher purpose.

  
  


You had meant what you said, about it taking strength to know what’s right.

  
  


But the thought speaks itself before you can dare to silence it. 

  
  


_ The way you keep fucking everything up at every turn....What if God made a mistake choosing you for this? _

  
  


Or worse yet.

_What if you were wrong in choosing this path?_

  
  


—

Even though you tell no one in your family that you’ve traveled back to Ireland for a period of time, you inevitably see many of them. Run into a few of your cousins at a pub one night, which you know sets off a whole chain of communications. And before you know it your mother is calling asking for a visit.

  
  


Though you desperately want to confront her, and take out all the rage you have built in your heart from what she’s done to you your entire life. (As well as gift her with some misplaced anger related to the torment of your lost love.) You don’t.

  
  


Instead, you agree to meet her for dinner one night. It’s tense and awkward, and neither of you pretends it’s anything but.

  
  


You allow her to feel like she’s done her motherly duty just by showing up. Even though just that concession alone makes you so incredibly angry.

  
  


Afterwards, you return to the church, trying to calm yourself down. You seek refuge in the Lord’s house, even though you know He is aware of your questioning. If you have ever epitomized Psalm 31:9, you certainly do now.

  
  


It’s late in the evening, when everything is still and silent. In the solitude of this empty church, you submit yourself to His word. His mercy.

  
  


And He reminds you of the funeral liturgy at this moment.  _ Life is changed, not ended.  _ Lord knows you had experienced enough life changes to have an unending appreciation for this particular sentiment. 

  
  


You realize that the same could be said for you. For a while, you could not help but feel like something in you had died, that she had taken parts of you. But now, you understand. She had not ended anything. Life had changed. You have changed.

  
  


There was no way that you could go back to being the priest you had been at the very start of it, just like it was impossible for you to go back to being the man you’d been before you were a priest.

  
  


Life, everything, had changed.

  
  


And you’ve been wrong. This whole time. For a while now you’ve been seeing the faith affirming signs, but you have been misunderstanding them. 

  
  


But He is guiding you to clarity now. And you know, this is the epiphany you had been waiting for,  _ praying  _ for. For the questions to be answered, for things to be easier. To understand. To know.

  
  


God certainly had a plan for you from the very beginning. You were never aimless, you were heading in the right direction and He was making sure you stayed on track.

  
  


It had never been a mistake for you to give up your past life to answer the Lord’s Calling. You needed that cleared slate and the time to work through it in search of purpose. He brought you to this life so you’d find meaning, and understand your value. Your commitment to His word, His work. But above all else, you needed to build a home within Him first.

He brought you to this because you connected with people. And you are good at that.

  
  


Then, He brought her to you. Not as a test, but as an affirmation. She helped you understand  _ love,  _ not just as some abstract bullshit concept to hypothesize about in sermons, but something real and true.

  
  


And you needed her as much as she needed you. 

  
  


You  _ do  _ need her. And God wants you to be near her. That is why every sign you’ve seen in your times of trouble always somehow reminded you of her. You just needed to go on this journey first, and get your shit figured out, before you would be ready for her. Actually, properly ready.

  
  


If anyone were to come into the church at this hour, you are certain they would find the whole scene bizarre. The priest temporarily assigned in this parish, on his knees in prayer and totally hysterical. You’re laughing, you’re crying, you are a hurricane of wild emotion.

  
  


But above all, you  _ are  _ closer to understanding.

  
  


And that is an absolute fucking miracle.

  
  


—

By the end of your stay in Ireland, you may not have an exact plan for the future, but you do leave with some of your biggest questions answered. And for now, that is more than enough.

  
  


When you arrive back to your parish, you’ve got a heart full of genuine hope. Possibly for the first time in your existence.


	8. let the rain be your applause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The Priest returns home, meets up with someone unexpected, and finds the universe is pretty forcefully guiding him to the direction of a certain someone...)

After you have settled back in from your time away, you begin to really take stock in your life. You’ve been so focused merely on surviving for so long, there are so many little things you’ve let slide. 

  
  


Physically, you look different. One day you're looking in the mirror and you hardly recognize yourself. Dark circles seem permanently etched below your eyes, the mark of a deeply tired man. And it’s been a while since you’ve been to the barber, which definitely adds to the crazed appearance you’ve got going on. But running the risk of being vain, you honestly kind of like the longer hair on you. So you let that one go for a bit. But you genuinely work on the insomnia issues, and the excessive drinking, to help you straighten up otherwise.

  
  


Now that you recognize that you've got a whole mountain of personal issues to work through, you start seeing a counselor. You still seek the clerical guidance of your mentors and the church, obviously. But frankly you need all the help you can get, even the secular and the clinical.

  
  


Still, you feel actually optimistic for a change. Like you're finally on the upswing, and for good. 

  
  


_ God wants you to be near her.  _ This realization brought your heart to its knees, and now it guides your motivation.

  
  


You have no idea how it could even logistically happen. But as you know, “With God all things are possible.”

  
  


In fact, you’re sitting in your office, musing on how to reach out to her, when you hear a faint knock on your door. You welcome in your guest, and find a very blonde and extremely smiley man walks in confidently. 

  
  


"Hello Father. Your friend said you were back here in your office." You imagine he means Pam directed him back here. There’s an accent there you can’t quite put your finger on. Finnish, maybe?

  
  


You feel like a proper bastard for not recognizing this man, when he clearly is acting like you both go way back.

  
  


“I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  
  


“Oh no, we haven’t met. My name is Klare….” You don’t quite catch his last name, honestly. He talks quite fast, and you’re absolute rubbish at names anyways. "...and you were the officiant at my Claire's father's wedding last year, yes?”

  
  


It takes a second for you to realize you did not mishear a repeated name, that he is referring to a separate Claire. And when it clicks, you feel even more like an actual idiot.

  
  


You offer him a seat, which he refuses politely, preferring to stand in the door. The visit will be brief, then. (Even though you want to extract as much information from him as humanly possible about  _ her _ .)

  
  


“I wanted to stop by and say thank you. She told me that what you said in your speech inspired her to take a chance with me. So all my happiness I owe to you.”

  
  


You remember clearly seeing her walk out in the middle of the ceremony, and that the explanation you had been given was a work thing.  _ Wow.  _ You are by no means a proud man, but you feel humbled that your rantings had resonated with her and made such an influence.

  
  


“I’m in town for business a couple days, and I'd like to buy you a drink sometime, as a thank you. If you’re free at all.”

  
  


Never one to turn down a drink, (and again, you  _ really  _ want to find out how she is doing. Even if by proxy) you make plans to meet up that evening at some nice restaurant that is near his final meeting for the evening. You'll just have one, you promise yourself. Confident that you'll actually keep that promise. And when you arrive, you’re glad you opted out of the clerical collar this evening. It is incredibly posh, and you would have felt out of place dressed accordingly.

  
  


Klare is unfailingly friendly to you. Buys you a top shelf glass of whiskey (even though you tell him you’re fine with whatever’s on tap) and does not even flinch at the price. Talks to you like you are already longtime friends. Speaks with sunny enthusiasm. His presence is overwhelmingly positive. 

  
  


You notice early on that everything he talks about is in relation to Claire. Claire's work. Claire's family. As if she is the sun that he is merely in reverent orbit of. It's quite lovely. 

  
  


"I was so disappointed that you couldn't join us for the anniversary party!” He exclaims at one point early on in the evening. “But when I came back here for work meetings, I knew I just had to meet you and thank you for helping me and my Claire."

  
  


You realize it, then. Klare was at the dinner.  _ Stepdaughter's new beau will be there.  _ You'd assumed it was her, not her sister, that would be bringing a date.

  
  


Hope renews in your spirit, and you do not bother to dampen it in the slightest this time.

  
  


You match his enthusiasm now. “Believe me, I was just as disappointed that I could not join you all. They’re such a fun family. Claire and her sister are so great.” (Ugh.  Don’t be so obvious.)

  
  


"Ah Claire's sister! Such a riot. Even when she is sad in the video calls, the jokes she makes. So hilarious.”

  
  


That kills you, ever so slightly. Knowing that she was at some point (and maybe even quite recently) was observably sad. That you couldn't be there for her. Despite all your wishful thinking that she was doing just fine without you. That's something you certainly have to add to your penance list.

  
  


But again, you _have_ to ask. “And Claire’s sister… How is she doing?”

  
  


You’re not being very subtle, and he looks a little uncomfortable. You’re not sure if it’s talking about unhappy things or sharing such private information. But you are desperate for any details you can excavate.

  
  


He mutters something, but clears his throat and continues on conversationally. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked, but my Claire said she is trying to move on. Perhaps sometime you can give her another of your amazing speeches!” He seems properly pleased at his suggestion, which comforts you in a weird way. Means he does not know the full extent of your involvement.

  
  


He thinks you’re just a helpful priest with a golden tongue, not a fucked up man in love with an atheist.

  
  


“Being in love can be difficult, don’t you think?” He says this with total confidence, but not from personal experience. Like he has observed it many times in others, but he finds no struggle in being in love. It feels unintentionally pointed, which makes his compatibility with Claire all the more obvious. They both just have a bluntness about them.

  
  


“I think love can certainly be complicated.” You say between sips of your whiskey. God knows you wish you could elaborate even further. “But then I suppose what in human existence isn’t?”

  
  


He laughs at what you had intended as a joke, even if it had been wildly shaded with sarcastic cynicism.

  
  


“But it’s so rewarding too, yea? Being able to let go of the bad things in the past and be happy with someone. Even when it’s messy. That’s the goal, don’t you think?”

  
  


“Yes.” Klare is right. And whether it’s his sunny disposition, your newfound openness to positivity once more, or just the pleasantness of the drink—-something makes this sentiment stick. You take his words of wisdom to heart.  You preach so often about the virtues of God’s love, but this whole time you’ve closed yourself off and beaten yourself up over your mistakes.

  
  


But now, you can finally accept it as gospel for yourself. (Pun intended)

  
  


The rest of the evening carries on pleasantly. You learn a lot about Finland, which is fun. You love learning new things. And at the end of the night, he gives you a handshake as a sign of gratitude, wishes you well, and hopes that your paths may cross again.

  
  


As you're leaving, you quickly become lost in thought. Still feeling a bit at a crossroads. Eager to see her once more. But from the sounds of things in conversation this evening, you had inflicted a freightage of unhappiness on the woman you loved.

  
  


And just then, you pass a woman with vibrant red hair outside having a cigarette who gives you a beaming smile. She’s got on a dress with an artistic pattern that you distinctly recognize as foxes.

  
  


You smile back, but think to yourself how odd that timing was.

  
  


You keep walking further, on your way to catch the Tube. Still musing on _her_. (Your favorite atheist, not the lady in the fox dress)

  
  


Would it be wrong to reach out to her now, if she was finally on the mend? Would it be totally selfish to force yourself back into her existence, when there was so little you could offer and so much that you would deny her?

  
  


“Fuck you then!” A man bellows from behind you, which immediately pulls your attention. When you turn around you see two men in friendly (if not rowdy and profane) conversation in the entryway of a pub.

  
  


You carry on, now fully alert to the timing of the universe at play with your thoughts, when a colorful stretch of street art catches your eye and stops you instantly. Something in the vibrant, intricate lines pulls you in, and you realize it’s a quote.

  
  


_ “I always get to where I am going by walking away from where I have been”  _

  
  


It’s from Winnie the Pooh. 

  
  


It is unmistakable to you now that you are being cosmically guided. There is nothing coincidental about any of the timings of what you have experienced in your walk so far. These rapid-fire signs seem to be answering your questions without even speaking them aloud.

  
  


You board the railway still in a daze. Desperate to figure out how to proceed. You are still a priest. Even though you love her, anything physical is thoroughly off the table. Could you really even approach her, knowing you had limitations?

  
  


Now you spot that there’s a woman next you with bulky headphones on, completely oblivious to the world around her. Under her breath, you notice that she’s singing along. “ _ If you had my love and I gave you all my trust, would you comfort me? _ ” 

  
  


For fuck’s sake, you know exactly what she is singing. It’s Jennifer Lopez.

  
  


It’s getting a little obnoxious, the persistence of these unsubtle hints. You find yourself a little annoyed with them. All you’re doing is just being cautious, calculating. And it's like you're being taunted for it.

  
  


Still, you walk the remainder of the distance back to your church, hesitant to make any sweeping declarations. The last thing you need is a giant guinea pig running out and attacking you at this point, just because you showed any signs of hesitancy. 

  
  


But really. You had made so many mistakes in the past. You’re just trying to be careful. What’s so wrong about taking your time to get things sorted out before you even think about contacting her again? Is it really so urgent that you just impulsively 

  
  


Just then, you hear a tinny noise chasing you down the road. An empty can rolls down the walkway like a tumbleweed in the wind, stopping at your heels. And because  _ of course it is,  _ you recognize that it’s tinned gin and tonic from M&S.

  
  


“Okay!” You shout like an actual madman. Though to be fair, the universe seems to be shouting at you in kind. “I’m listening!” 

  
  


You stand there, wide open to the hints that are being unmistakably demonstrated everywhere. And you accept what He is so clearly telling you.

  
  


You have to see her. All the signs are clearly pointing you in her direction.

  
  


Yep. You’re ready now.


	9. with simple math and shy discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A reunion, and a realization, occurs.)

Until you met her, you’d always had a fondness for Proverbs 19:21. You know, “Many are the plans in a person’s heart. But it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

  
  


It had always been a comforting thought, that even though you feel a natural human compulsion to plan ahead, God’s purpose will ultimately guide you in the right direction.

  
  


(There’s another expression that sums it up pretty well. “Man plans, God laughs.”)

  
  


And despite the bible warning you of exactly how it will turn out, you still foolishly attempt to plan exactly how and when you’ll see her again. A quick text? A phone call? A strategically timed casual run-in? You are indecisive and take your time in plotting it all out. 

  
  


It’s Tuesday now, and you’ve got a day full of appointments that starts off with meeting up with Joe (who has firmly established on a first-name, regular church volunteer basis now) And you realize far too late that the address he’s given you to meet up at is Hillary’s Cafe.

  
  


Had you been paying attention, you might have recommended somewhere else. As desperate as you are to see her once more, now is not the time. Not when you’re in full priest mode, counseling a parishioner, with a whole list of church work to complete throughout the day. You want your first face to face meeting to be centered exclusively on the two of you, person to person. 

  
  


But it’s too late now. Best get on with it.

  
  


Foolishly, there is a part of you that hopes she’s taken the day off. Maybe she has staff now, someone to take up the slack so she can have a life here and there. 

  
  


You really should fucking know better though. " _ Man plans, God laughs." _

  
  


After you’ve found a table outside, you turn to look through the shop window. And even with the distance, between panes of glass, you can tell that it is definitely her there.

  
  


You don’t hold much stock in all the archetypal representations of heaven--harps and clouds, feathery wings and people in long white robes. 

But damn, if seeing her face doesn’t make you hear a heavenly choir.

  
  


She looks well. She’s got on a flowy sundress underneath her pinny. Her hair’s different, a new, slightly shorter style (which suits her nicely). And most importantly, she seems happier. Moves around with confidence and a quiet sense of repose in her expression.

  
  


Perhaps you were right, that it had passed for her, and you'd be doing more harm than good intruding on her life again.

  
  


Or, quite possibly, you had actually helped her in a way when she came to your confession.  _ Stop believing in just the awful things _ , you remind yourself.

  
  


You'll talk to her eventually and work out where she's at. But for now, you just allow yourself to be completely beatific at just the sight of her.

  
  


She’s coming outside now. It’s probably just in your head, but everything starts moving in slow motion. You can clock the exact moment that she notices you’re here though. Her whole body tenses up and her steps become more hesitant.

  
  


And yet, she doesn’t throw a drink in your face and does not chase you away immediately.

  
  


Likely unaware of your history, Joe takes the lead on introducing the two of you.

  
  


If you’re lucky, you just look nervous, and not utterly euphoric just to be in her presence. “Hi. Hello.” Such a nerd, can’t just say hello like a normal fucking person.

  
  


At this, Joe then makes a comment about going to visit with Hillary and Stephanie. And you remember that Hillary is the guinea pig (that you absolutely wouldn’t mind playing with before you go, if you can) but you’ve no idea who Stephanie is. Perhaps someone who works there too?  _ That’s a good small talk topic, for later.  _ You’ll need those filed away, a collection of safe talking points for future conversations. That is, if she does not turn you out here in a moment.

  
  


And now it’s just you and her. 

  
  


At last.

  
  


You’ve missed her. Even if she looks horrified—and possibly on the brink of passing out—at the prospect of seeing you. It feels good to be in her presence out in the open, not shrouded by a confessional or from a creep’s distance.

  
  


“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You take this moment alone to apologize, you really hadn’t meant to spring yourself on her like this. “Like an absolute idiot, I didn’t realize when he wanted to meet up that it’d be...here.”

  
  


She smiles, but it’s guarded. Like this is the Business Owner Smile that everyone who comes in gets. Not her top-secret intimate smile, that is filled with goodness and feels like rapture in your soul when you see it. 

  
  


“It’s fine.” She assures you, and whips out that trademark humor. “With you here to chat with Joe, I should be able to get some work done in peace for a change.” ( Having spent enough time with Joe now, you understand the depth of her appreciation of keeping him occupied today.)

  
  


Silence consumes her. You feel her gaze on you, appraising your very being. As the perpetual observer, you can’t help but feel uncomfortable in being observed yourself. Can she see how miserable you had been before? And how pleased you are now?  _ If she thinks you need a haircut _ , that’s another safe small talk option for later, you think smugly.

  
  


But as she watches you with a look of slight consternation, part of you is worried that it means your presence here is unwelcome. The more terrifying prospect though is that she feels completely neutral or even apathetic about seeing you again.

  
  


“Are you sure you don’t mind? That I’m here? I can fake an emergency if you’d…” You trail off, devastated at the prospect of being asked to leave. But you would honor her wishes always. After everything you’ve done, you owe her that much.

  
  


But she just shakes her head, curls bouncing adorably as she does. God, she looks good.

  
  


“It’s fine, really. If you need anything…” She leaves a lengthy pause in there, that grants you the time to muse on all that you could possibly ask of her.

  
  


_ Your forgiveness, for one. _

  
  


_ Your calming presence, for another. _

  
  


_ Anything you’d be willing to offer, really. _

  
  


“It’s literally my job today.” She punctuates that last sentence, making it clear that she is only speaking as a café owner right now.

  
  


So you just nod politely. Resolved to seek those things later, if there is any sort of sign that it would not just be causing her more pain. Joe stumbles back to the table at this point, perfectly timed. He orders you both an earl grey and chamomile respectively, which she turns on her heels to to get started.

  
  


As she starts to walk away, you ask (no, beg) God for the tiniest bit of reassurance. If you say what you’re about to say, and she says it back (and means it) then it’s a sign. That there’s still hope for you.

  
  


“It’s good to see you. You look well.” You call out even though you are absolutely holding your breath.

  
  


This stops her. Slowly, she turns to you. And flashes that same damn intrigued smile the first night you’d ever met. The one that bound itself to your entire being in an instant, and pulled you into her gravitational force. “It’s good to see you too.”

  
  


You can tell. She means it.

  
  


_ Thank God. _

  
  


You’re quite content at this point. After she’s back inside, your heart is pounding and your mouth is dry. All you want to do is forsake everything else, go inside and continue the conversation. But no. Not now. Right now, you've got a job to do. 

  
  


“What a nice girl.” Joe just smiles proudly. Can he tell that you’re staring? You try to be less obvious and focus back on him. “You know, she’s actually the one who told me about your church!”

  
  


A cricket bat to the face would have less impact on you than this revelation. 

  
  


It had never occurred to you at any point that she had been the one to tell him about your church. You had expected her to curse your name forever, not send potential parishioners your way. 

  
  


You’re not sure why exactly, but this stirs something in you. Is it...suspicion? Confusion? It’s unclear how or what exactly you are feeling, and all you want to do is explore it further.

  
  


Luckily, you have a strategy in place. Even before it was your entire job to listen to others, you had always been a magnet for over-sharers. Complete strangers would often divulge deeply private stories to you upon first meeting. Which, at times, could be a little frustrating. But t his did help you develop a great self preservation technique. You could keep a conversation going without consciously focusing on the person talking. It was mostly just reading body language to either chuckle or mutter something supportive at just the right moment. 

  
  


Almost like your body could keep the conversation going in one room, and your brain could then jump into a closet to have a proper think in solitude. (Not a great metaphor, really.)

  
  


But this is what you do now, during your chat with Joe. You keep the conversation going, but you work through the jumble of what you are feeling.

  
  


_ What does it mean, exactly, that she recommended St. Ethelred’s to Joe?  _ It had felt like a sign at the time, something keeping you committed to your work in the church. And yet, it also drew you in closer to her in a way.

  
  


At some point while you’re lost in your own head, she comes back with the tea. Hopefully you acknowledged her but you’re seriously in a daze, so it’s not certain that you did.

  
  


Another question pops up.  _ Why would it have been so important to her to come to YOUR confessional?  _ Religious guidance had never been a priority, and you really doubt that anything in your dalliance’s ending would have swayed her from her steadfast atheist leanings. 

  
  


She came to you for a reason. You believe God guided her to you for some very specific reasons, but what was her own personal motivation on that one?

  
  


You spend a long time at the cafe working through your thoughts on this, but don’t quite manage to get anywhere.

  
  


When you go to leave, you turn to her and wave. But she is caught up with a whole queue of customers. You leave, knowing that you had not gotten an additional chance to talk to her, that you would have to save all of your inquiries for another time. 

  
  


But these questions torment you. You pick at them throughout the day. Which means the rest of the day passes in a blur. For all you know, you’ve advised every parishioner you met with to embrace Satan and abandon Catholicism entirely. Your memory of the day’s events is permanently junked.

  
  


All you can think about is her.

  
  


That smile. The fluidity of her movements as she floated around the cafe, so graceful and practiced. The confidence in her appearance. 

  
  


Then, as you begin to make your way back to the church, you have a lightbulb moment seemingly out of nowhere.

  
  


The sensation you had felt, when Joe told you that she had recommended your church to him. It can be named now--it was cognizance. It had been things falling into logical order, to where they could be understood.

  
  


And you feel confident that you understand, finally. Why she had come to your confession. Why she told Joe about your church. 

  
  


These things had been an offering. A gift showing support, of connection. 

  
  


_ Hold on. _

  
  


At all of your most challenging times in the last eighteen months, you had been receiving those omens that you had regularly misinterpreted. Read them as signs of sticking close to the church, but also keeping her in the front of your thoughts.  Then realizing that they were actually pulling her towards a path that was not dividing your heart, but opening yourself up to the possibility of multiplying it.

_ What if they were actually  _ all  _ directly from her? _

  
  


She could have been the one to send you that restaurant voucher. Or possibly that book.

  
  


Christ, what if that’s what Claire meant?  _ Everything is Fucked _ , that was the title. If she’d known that her sister had given that book to you, which she very well could have mentioned at some point, for a laugh, then it’d make sense for her to drop a hint like that. She had always sort of seemed secretly on your side in a way. Like giving you her sister’s address with absolutely no context or justification. 

  
  


Yeah, she basically told you in the store that day, and you were too distracted to get it.

  
  


You know for a fact that she told Joe to go to service at your church. And above all things confirmed and suspected, she had gifted you with her trust, sharing her deepest regrets and tightly held secrets that night in confession.

  
  


Was it possible that… she had purposefully been doing all of these things... for you? Because she cared about you, both in past and present tenses? 

  
  
  
All you know is that you need to see her, and find out.


	10. (benediction)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The Priest gets some answers, and finds some hope along the way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, taking the time to leave kudos and comments. All the kind words are incredibly appreciated, more than I could adequately express. Next part will be coming soon. Stay safe and be well. ❤️

You stand outside the cafe’s doors for a solid fifteen minutes, eyes fixed on the flipped over Closed sign dangling from the window. It’s taunting you. Challenging you to turn away and be a coward once more.

  
  


From where you stand rigidly unmoving, you can see her but she is fully enraptured in her work and does not notice you. Just the sight of her fills you simultaneously with courage and panic, an intoxicating blend of emotions that you should be familiar with by now.

  
  


This time, God grants you the strength to turn the door handle, with the additional gratuity of it being unlocked.

  
  


When the little bell chimes announcing your intrusion, she does not look up but her whole body goes in a fight-or-flight way. And it dawns on you that you’ve just intruded on a closed business without saying a word, like some kind of criminal.

  
  


“Sorry, I know you’re closed and I promise I’m not a robber.” 

  
  


There’s something about her presence that always transforms you from an eloquently wordy man to a total babbling mess.

  
  


She looks up at you suddenly, possibly more frightened knowing that it’s  _ you _ . 

  
  


You just smile, as if you are confident of what you’ll say. Like you’re not totally confused about how to ask her your questions. Or what exactly to do next.

  
  


She, on the other hand, is now staring at you like she could not possibly know why you are here. 

  
  


“I was hoping I could talk to you before but you seemed really busy.” You mean it as a sincere compliment, but also as explanation for why you left without saying a word. “I’m glad to see things are still going well here.” 

  
  


She’s blushing now. Like she is unaccustomed to being treated with praise and compliments. That is something you’ll have to help fix, because she deserves to fully comprehend the extent of her loveliness.

  
  


It really does make you happy that the cafe is going well. But more than anything, you’re trying to build up the courage to ask what you really wanted to ask. And talking about her professional life is another one of those safe small-talk topics you had kept in your pocket.

  
  


“Oh yeah, Chatty Wednesdays are still a hit and spreading out throughout the week now.” 

  
  


It makes absolutely no sense, but there’s something in what she’s just said that solves everything for you. She’s confirmed nothing, but somehow you know.

  
  


“You are going to think I’m mad, but I’ve got something I have been dying to ask you.”

She looks at you expectantly.

  
  


There is a chance that you have completely manufactured this whole interpretation. That your wishful thinking has created a whole fantasy scenario that she spent the better part of a year sending you offerings as a sign of her continued love.

  
  


Yes, you absolutely sound like a madman. This was certainly a mistake.

  
  


“Erm...How have you been? Are you well?” How embarrassing. Taking the cowardly way out. You can tell. She can obviously fucking see it, because she just nods. And you nod back, like the absolute idiot you are.

  
  


No way out now. So just get on with it.

  
  


“Did you… ever send me anything in the mail?”

  
  


She glances away, like she’s about to do that disappearing thing again. But her focus pulls right back to you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  
  


There’s about a 20% chance that she genuinely doesn’t. So you explain about your difficult autumn, and the voucher that temporarily turned things around for you at the time.

  
  


“Ooh, sounds like you’ve got an admirer.” So effortlessly flirty. It’s contemptible, and you love it unfailingly.

  
Then you bring up the Christmas gift. Just to see if there’s the faintest hint of anything in her expression to confirm that you are on the right track. A flicker of  _ ‘oh shit, I’ve been caught’  _ in her eyes. But of course, she continues to play it cool.

  
  


Which frustrates you. So you move on to your next bit of evidence, even though you’re technically presenting it to her like you haven’t already sorted it all out. “And of course, Joe mentioned at first that a nice lady at Chatty Wednesday recommended he give my church a try, I never even imagined that you would have been the one to send him my way.”

  
  


She pauses, purses her lips, then. “THAT… was probably more on the punishment side of things, honestly.” 

  
  


Bang. There it is. 

  
  


You laugh, despite the very seriously confusing context you are now in. 

  
  


“So was it all you then?”

  
  


You can tell, she’s been caught out and now she is scrambling around to find a way out. 

  
  


But to your surprise, she just nods. 

  
  


You cannot help but marvel at her. It’s one thing to have a pretty good idea that she has been sending you all these anonymous gifts when she should have been wishing plagues onto your household. It’s another thing entirely to have confirmation. 

  
  


“Why?” It certainly is the biggest question in your mind. Ever since the suspicion first even crossed your mind. The motive was what you needed now. “I mean it’s very kind, and I’m grateful. But why would you do all that for me ? The bastard who....” 

  
  


There are far too many conclusions to that thought. Your list of offenses is lengthy, and will take a long time to reconcile with her over. 

  
  


“Honestly?”

  
  


“Yes please.” You want to know, but the truth of it terrifies you. By your calculations, there are only a few possible explanations for why she had been acting in this manner since you broke her heart. And very few of them were good.

  
  


The worst of them, and what seemed to be most likely, would be that she pitied you.

  
  


But then she answers, and it quite literally leaves you speechless.

  
  


“Because…I figured if you were even half as lonely as I was, that the least I could do was love you as much as I could from afar without making things harder on you.”

  
  


Of all the responses you could have even envisioned to your question of why, they all fall criminally short of your expectations. But in the absolute best positive way. 

  
  


You see it. The love in her. Pure. Powerful. Unrestrained. And despite everything you have done, it’s still there.

  
  


Understanding washes over you like a floodlight, blinding you with the light of its truth. You had been absolutely wrong before. How could anything other than your merciful and understanding God bring the two of you together? And if you were truly so unredeemable, so  _ unforgivable,  _ how could you be considered worthy of such authentic and wholehearted love? 

  
  


Unexpectedly, she goes on to explain how this was not some elaborate ruse into, how did she put it? “Trick you into a devious vow-breaking entanglement again” There really wasn’t anything about what she had done that ever suggested she was seducing you again. But it’s still nice to hear.

  
  


“And I tried really hard to keep it all anonymous.” 

  
  


All you can do is whisper. “I know.”

  
  


She moves in closer, just a single step. If you’re honest with yourself, you want her to move in even closer. But not yet. Not now.

  
  


“I just…”

  
  


You wonder if she feels the spark between you as well. You’ve always been drawn to her on a chemical level, but the galvanism here now is off the charts.

  
  


You’re desperate to know what she is thinking. “Just what?”

  
  


Again, she goes silent. The pull to disappear is strong, but just possibly the desire to stay present with you might be stronger. You have the audacity to wish that this is the case.

  
  


_ God, you wish that you could kiss her right now. _

  
  


Finally, she puts you out of your misery and speaks once more. “I just want you to be happy.”

  
  


You can feel yourself well up, and all hopes of staying strong and cool are thoroughly dashed. All of this was far more than you could have ever hoped for, and you are endlessly grateful for it.

  
  


You desperately want to make contact. Touching her arm would be too intimate, too familiar. But the elbow? Yes. That’s a friendly place to start. (Christ, you’re a mess. Do you even know how to be a human anymore?) Then feeling emboldened, you move your hand into hers. Fingers laced. 

  
  


It feels right. 

  
  


Once again, even though her presence fills you with quiet calm, you cannot articulate everything you want to say. 

  
  


Though you have desperate aspirations of more with her somehow and eventually, for now you are ostensibly married to the church. You’re not sure yet how to offer her anything more. And you’re not even sure if you’re strong enough yet to make that big change that would allow you to.

  
  


But you do feel like there is room in your heart for both Him and  _ her _ .

  
  


As if she can see straight into your soul and knows exactly how to speak the words you fail to articulate. “You know, I have been practicing at this whole friendship thing. I’m much better at it now, I think.” 

  
  


You laugh. Not because you don’t believe her offer of friendship. (Her ability to remain in your orbit anonymously for so long definitely testifies to her willingness to just be a friend.) But you laugh because you’re relieved that she still wants you in any capacity.

  
  


“So, I’d be willing to give that a proper go again, friends only, if you’d have me.”

  
  


_ If you’d have me _ , she says. As if you could exist, let alone be properly fulfilled, without her presence in your life.

  
  


All you can do is smile. And answer her request with one set of three words that you have never meant more sincerely. “I’d love that.”

  
  


You have a lot to sort out still. A veritable mountain of issues and plans and obstacles to climb. It’s not going to be easy, and you have a lot of hard choices ahead.

  
  


But just for this moment, you take all that she is offering you exactly as it is intended to be--as blessing. As benediction.

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm just a rusty American fanfic writer ((who is also not a Catholic priest)) so please absolve any Americanisms or church-related mistakes 😊)
> 
> (Apologies in advance for all the Priest angst.)
> 
> Story title from "Pamphleteer" and chapter titles from "Benediction" by The Weakerthans
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! ❤️


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